


Noctem Quietam

by CapGirlCanuck



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But I think he learns a lot of that from Ron, Card Games, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Harry is a Good Friend, Hogwarts First Year, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, sleepy musings, soft and warm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapGirlCanuck/pseuds/CapGirlCanuck
Summary: Friendship isn't just built in the big scary moments, when you beat a troll or face a three headed dog. A lot of it is built in the in-between times, on the ordinary days.Or: Harry and Ron have a quiet night.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Noctem Quietam

**Author's Note:**

> So, yes, I've been dabbling in a lot of other universes. Got to reading some Harry Potter fanfics, and loved how some people were taking notice of Harry and Ron's pretty awesome friendship. Late last night this popped into my head, I scribbled it down, and here you are.  
> This is in their first year, somewhere in the late fall/early winter.

It was a quiet night.

Middle of the week, no quidditch matches approaching or holidays close enough to get excited about. Outside, it was raining hard enough to be heard pattering against the glass. Even the usually rowdy older students seemed subdued—content to sit and talk quietly, or just stare into the fire.

By dint of much muttering and parchment flapping, and with much puckering of their brows, Harry and Ron had completed their day’s assignments, a full hour before they usually went up to bed.

“Well,” said Ron, stuffing his parchments into his bag, and standing to stretch. “This is different. What should we do now?”

Harry rubbed his eyes, and settled his glasses back on his nose. He was tired, and very glad there was no quidditch practice that night. It would have been dreadfully wet and cold.

“How about a game of cards?”

Ron shrugged. “I was going to suggest chess, but you’re probably sick of that, and then Hermione could join us.”

Both boys glanced round for the girl, and saw she was curled up in a corner of a window seat, nose in a book.

“Hermione!” Ron called.

She didn’t move.

“Deaf to the world,” he sighed. “Do you feel like going over there and shaking her?”

Harry gave a little grin, thinking of the possible result of that action. “Not really.”

“Right then.” Ron dug around in his messy bag, and finally unearthed a pack of cards with a blue dragon doing cartwheels on the backs. “What’ll it be?”

“Crazy eights?” Harry suggested, and was met with Ron’s blank look.

“What’s that?”

“Seriously?” Harry felt inclined to laugh, but Ron had always been so kind about all the things he didn’t know about the wizarding world, it would have been too mean. “Have you even heard the name?”

Ron scowled. “I’m not stupid–” he started.

But Harry said quickly, “I didn’t say you were. Actually, I learnt it from a book. Ages since I played it. Funny how I still remember how. I think. I’ll teach you. If you want me to,” he added, uncertain.

Harry felt a bit shy about the offer, as if he could really teach Ron anything. But it would be nice, to give Ron some small piece of knowledge he had. Even it was only a card game.

Ron had relaxed, and now shrugged, started to shuffle the cards. He did so by spreading them out over the table, and pointing his wand at them, apparently trying to make them stack themselves again. But they just got more spread out.

“Who did you play with?” he asked. “A friend at school?”

Harry frowned at the memory. “No, my cousin. He’s a thick head, but he actually got the hang of it. But then I kept beating him, and he said I cheated, and he pushed me down the stairs.”

Ron stopped his shuffling, and stared at Harry. “He what? Did you get hurt?”

Harry blinked, and then he felt a smile creep across his face; an odd thing for a memory of Dudley. “Nope. Not even a bruise, now that I think about it. It must have been the magic.

“Here,” he added, pushing Ron’s wand aside and reaching to scrape the cards into a pile.

“How old were you?” Ron asked, watching Harry’s hands move.

He shrugged. “Seven or eight, maybe.”

Ron’s frown deepened. “Your cousin sounds like a brute.”

Harry shrugged again. “He can be.”

“Right,” Ron said abruptly. “What about explaining these rules then?”

Ron caught on at once, and games could fly with only two people, so they had progressed the countdown version by the time Hermione wandered over to say goodnight.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she added over her shoulder, as she turned to head for the staircase to the girls’ dormitories.

Ron, who had been slumped in his chair, squinting at his cards, sat up straight, and frowned after her. “We’ll stay up as late as we like,” he called, but she was out of earshot.

“Good thing Percy didn’t hear you,” Harry murmured, putting down a seven of clubs. “Or you’d get lectured.”

Ron snorted, but his attention was back on the game.

It was close in the end, but Harry won, and Ron congratulated him as he gathered up the cards. “Another game?” he asked Harry, but then he yawned, wide enough that his jaw cracked.

Harry grinned. “Nah. Quit while I’m ahead. But my feet are cold. Let’s go sit by the fire.”

The room had emptied somewhat. Most first- and second-years seemed to have gone up to bed. A seventh-year girl was sitting in a corner playing softly on a violin. The air smelled of popcorn that someone had made earlier, mint and lemon from some tea a couple fifth-years were drinking, and that particular smell of Hogwarts that Harry could only describe as ‘stony’.

All the armchairs were taken by older students, but there were a few cushions they could sit on, and they made themselves comfortable on the rug.

Harry stared into the flames, his mind half asleep already. Ron’s shoulder pressed against his.

The sounds layered softly over each other—flames crackling, rain tapping on the glass, violin music, Fred and George Weasley’s quiet laughter.

Harry awoke suddenly to Ron’s warm weight against his right shoulder and side, his steady breathing. Slumped against Harry, he was dozing peacefully.

Harry turned his head slightly to look down at his friend, but all he could see was the red hair, made even redder in the fire glow.

Harry didn’t know why he felt so warm inside, or so suddenly protective. He stared into the flames, hardly seeing them, and sat quite still, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. He didn’t want anything to disturb Ron.

Harry had never had anyone fall asleep on him before. It was strange having someone trust you that much, not worrying about if you might shove them off, or shout to wake them up. But Ron just did it, so naturally and unconsciously that Harry had only noticed by the time he was quite vulnerable.

Ron didn’t seem to think twice about being safe with Harry. He supposed… he supposed that was part of what friends were like. He didn’t really know. But he supposed he’d learn.

His own eyes were starting to drift shut, and he thought he should stay awake, keep watch. But he was tired, and the room was warm…

His head nodded.

“Hi! You two!”

Startled, Harry lifted his head, from where it had come to rest against Ron’s.

Percy was using his ‘annoyed head boy’ voice. “Don’t fall asleep on the rug like that. You should be in bed.”

Ron shook himself awake, and sat up, yawning. “Alright, alright, no need to shout, Head Bother.” He grinned at Harry as Percy gave an indignant splutter. “Gosh, I’m sleepy.”

“Me too,” agreed Harry softly.

The two boys hauled themselves to their feet, and made their way to the stairs, which they climbed without speaking, side-by-side so that they bumped shoulders several times.

Harry finally snuggled down under his covers, the cool sheets keeping from falling asleep instantly. He heard Ron hiss something to Scabbers, and the rustling as he made himself comfortable, before the room got quiet.

“Goodnight, Ron,” he called softly.

“’Night, Harry,” Ron muttered back.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling oddly happy.

He thought of Hermione helping him with finding books in the library, and the taste of pumpkin juice, and Hagrid waving his pink umbrella, and he was falling, like a snowflake drifting through the air, floating down into the darkness of sleep.

It was a quiet night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> Kudos and comments are always encouraging.  
> Love you readers!


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